, petrified with rage and disgust, and then flew like a madman back
to the concert-room. He cannoned up against some one leisurely strolling
up to the dressing-room, and was darting on again _sans_ apology. A
hand gently closed upon his collar and pulled him back.

"Hallo, young shaver! Little boys used to apologize when they--Why,
it's Grim! What in the name----"

Grim, almost blubbing with anger and shame, poured out his tale, and Acton
listened with an amused smile. "Sheer funk, Grim. Well, go on, and tell
'em their Cherry has rotted, but that I'll come and tell 'em a little tale
instead."

Grim would have embraced Acton if he'd been a little taller, but he
gurgled, "Acton, you _are_ a brick," and darted on to the stage.

He was received with deafening cheers, and shrieks of "No waits!"
"Manager!" "Don't hurry, Grim!" "We'll send out for supper!" "We want
Cherry!" "Go off," etc.

When Grim could get a word in he panted, "Gentlemen, I am sorry to say
B.A.M. Cherry is indisposed and cannot favour you with the epilogue."

"Funked it!" roared all the delighted juniors.

"He says he is unwell," said Grim, anger getting the better of him, "but
he'll be a jolly sight worse in the morning."

There was a hurricane of thunderous cheers at this sally, but Grim managed
to shout above the laughing, "I have great pleasure in announcing that
John Acton, Esq., will take Fruity's--I mean Cherry's--place and tell you
a little tale; even Corker fags will understand it," added Grim,
viciously.

Acton came on and received his hearty welcome with easy good nature. He
plunged right into his contribution: "A London cabby's account of his
different fares"--from the double-superfine gilt-edged individual to the
fat old dowager who _will_ have the parrot inside with her. Acton
gave it perfectly. Grim, who had his ears glued to the exit door, vowed he
could almost hear the swell drop his eyeglass.

Sharpe stepped on to the stage amid the polite attentions of his natural
enemies. "Be a man, Sharpe." "Don't cry." "You'll see mamma soon." "Speak
up." "He did it all alone, remember." "No help." "Oh, dear no!"

"When on the bosom of the sleeping pool,
That's shaded o'er by trees in greenest dress,
Upon its breast of snow its gem of gold
The water lily swims--"

The juniors howled with dismay at this commencement, and Corker juniors
instantly began to keep time to Sharpe's delivery in the organ-grinder's
fashion. Bu